


Attention

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Voice Chat), Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Edging, F/M, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Rose wants to play a game. How long can Bro hold out playing online games before she gets a reaction out of him?
Relationships: Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Rose Lalonde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Attention

**Author's Note:**

> Rose and Bro aren't related in this au. Includes the kind of mind game shenanigans you expect with these two, played lightly.

Almost everything between the two of you is a game. It’s impossible to know where irony recedes to let sincerity out, because each of those concepts bleeds through into everything you do. You know that’s why he likes you so much. You’re never bored and you never have to file down your claws because none of your usual bullshit can hurt him and you won’t ever do it on purpose.

It’s your turn to bring something to the table. Or, rather, bed. Or, actually, couch. You don’t _technically_ take turns, except of course you both know whose turn it is and which events have been met with the most success. So, when he’s conveniently already playing a video game, you take the other end of the couch wearing only a pair of his boxers.

‘Those aren’t yours,’ he says, not taking his eyes off the screen as far as you can tell. 

‘I don’t particularly care,’ you say.

‘What’s the game, Rose?’ he asks.

‘I thought I’d test that legendary focus of yours.’

He pauses the game, which is no fun at all. You’ll have him switch to something online, something with a ranking so his failures will have consequences. He looks at you assessingly. 

Bro Strider is a collage of angles. His shades, his collar, even the shadow of his cap all conspire to cut triangles across him. It continues underneath his clothes, when you can see the sharpness of his jaw and the slimness of his waist under the mess of muscles of his upper body. It makes him a challenge to approach. You like it.

‘If you want my attention, sittin’ there with your tits out is an excellent start,’ he says.

‘Only a start,’ you promise. ‘How about you play Fortnite. Show the youths how it’s done.’

He raises an eyebrow before turning back to the TV and saving his game. You could start undressing him now, hit him hard and keep it coming, but you keep yourself in an easy recline. His eyes dart noticeably to where your bent leg is leaving a gap in your boxers. You wonder if he can see all the way up.

He drags his gaze back to the screen to start up the new game. At every loading screen, his eyes are drawn back to you, and your eyes never leave his face. You watch as he lifts his shoulder through a shiver and wonder if that’s because he can feel you watching him.

You’re very glad that you haven’t made a habit of casual nudity with him. He has, he made a production of his ambivalence towards clothes from the very start, probably hoping to unnerve you. You’ve done the opposite, restricted yourself so that every show of skin has been worthy of attention. You didn’t know that you wanted it for this, specifically. It just seemed like a good thing to have in the deck.

He gets the game started before you think to check that he knows the rules. It isn’t that you think he’s not up to this, he’s introduced way weirder, but you get a thrill out of making him agree to your games. He does too.

‘Am I allowed to do anything?’ you ask, relaxing more into the couch and extending your feet so that they’re in his lap. 

‘Y’aint gonna brush against anythin’ I can’t handle,’ he drawls. You don’t think he knows how much more Southern he gets when he’s wound up. He does it when you fight, too. ‘I’ll give you a smack if I’m afeared for my innocence.’

You laugh softly. He reaches over to put his cap on your head and picks up his headset, flicking the mic down to his mouth.

‘Where’re we headed, folks?’ he asks his team, his eyes still on you. You flip his hat backwards and he smirks at you. He’s cocky for a man who has just seen the universal signal for “shit’s about to get real”. 

You let him play through the first game, not moving except to occasionally shift for comfort. He doesn’t win, but he barely looks at you. The loss is enough proof, even though he flicks his mic to off position to tell you about the idiots he got stuck with as he waits for the next game to load. The Bro you know can take out the whole map solo every time.

Halfway through the next match you retract your feet. He gets knocked down almost immediately, but a teammate revives him and he doesn’t get eliminated. 

‘Thank ya kindly,’ he says, his voice very mildly tinged with annoyance. He might as well have thrown the controller. He hates needing help.

You hug your knees up to your chest and he sets he jaw against the temptation to look at you. You let him have another break. You know that the anticipation is almost worse than anything else you can do. _Almost._

It’s not only nudity you’ve been sparing with. He fucks you with dizzying thoroughness, and seems to get everything he needs out of the thrill of taking orgasms from you, from seeing your composure shattered. He’s a difficult man to treat.

You kneel next to him and breathe against his neck, raising tiny hairs, before kissing him quietly and thoroughly. He makes a small noise when you bite him, but you’re not counting pain. His rough palm comes up to the back of your neck and holds you for a moment as if he wouldn’t mind if you were. 

He shifts forwards a bit, hands back on the controller, and gives you the room you need to wrap your arms around him, lips still on his neck. 

He flicks his mic up briefly to say, ‘I better be black and purple after this,’ and brings it back down before you can admonish him for cheating.

You suck a brutal hickey onto his neck and draw back enough to see that it’s only slightly more red than purple, your lipstick smudged over it. You could have taken it off. You think you both like how he can’t hide when you’ve kissed him, how you both have to wait when you're in public.

His stomach sucks in as you pull up his shirt and slip your fingers underneath, but he doesn’t make a noise. You reach up to play with a piercing and he says, _’Fuck,’_ as his avatar is killed. You take credit for both within the privacy of your mind and continue to play with the piercing and the soft, taut nipple it slides through. 

‘You’re a piece of work, you know that, huh?’ he tells you.

‘Yes,’ you say. ‘How strong is your resolve, do you think?’

‘Not fuckin’ strong enough.’

You smile against his neck and undo his belt buckle. He turns his head to kiss you before he starts the next round. 

You extract yourself from where your arm was almost pressed between his back and the couch and climb onto your knees in front of him. He looks down at you, shakes his head, and refocuses. It’s not a position you typically find yourself in. You put your hands on his thighs and feel him tense before he forces himself to relax. 

His jeans are soft, well-worn denim. You thumb up the inside of his thighs, trace the outline of his pockets. His Adam’s apple bobs through a swallow as you start to unzip. He lifts his hips when you pull on his jeans and boxers, letting you take them off. You take them all the way to his ankles and leave him trapped, not about to move just yet. You trace new patterns through his leg hair, almost long enough to curl again since you waxed his legs for fun. He shifts helpfully closer to the edge of the couch, but you’re not touching his dick yet, you’re _teasing._

‘Rose, you’re fucking killing me,’ he says, each word bitten off clean and perfect. You turn slightly and see that he’s in a loading screen, so it doesn’t count. 

‘Maybe another day,’ you say, looking up at him as you kiss his inner thigh. ‘You can handle this.’

‘What’s your end game? I can’t fuckin’ tell if you want me to win or lose.’

‘That’s the best kind of game,’ you murmur, not looking up at him anymore. 

He makes a soft huffing noise in reply and you hear the clack of his controller start again. You’re almost disappointed by his question. Obviously you’ll pretend that you were intending him to prove his focus if you can’t distract him, or that you wanted to own his attention if you can. You literally can’t lose in this situation, which is why you’re doing it. That, and you think it’d be very hot if he decided to turn the tables on you next time he catches you reading.

You’ve moved in inches this whole time because him wondering when you were going to make your move was making him twitchy and tempting him to look at you. You don’t want him getting used to that, so you wrap your hand around his cock and slide your lips down to the halfway point and back off in a motion that only takes two seconds to execute.

 _’Fuck,’_ Bro says. 

You keep a hold of him as you look up. His eyes dart down to you and back up, so you go very, very slowly on your next dip. You don’t bother to strain yourself past the point of comfort; you have a hand to gently squeeze the rest. You suck on him as you draw back, and repeat the motion until you feel a hand on the back of your head. You let him push you down (only as far as you want to be) and withdraw at the pace of his lessening pressure. 

You look up to him instead of lowering yourself again, straightening the cap that he knocked out of secure position. 

‘Did you give up?’ you ask. 

‘Rose,’ he implores.

‘You’re allowed to give up,’ you say, carelessly running your fore finger underneath your bottom lip to tidy your irredeemably ruined lipstick.

‘I don’t fuckin’ give up.’

You smile impishly and dip back down. He gets both hands back on his controller before you set a punishingly quick rhythm. He lets his torso fall back into the couch and you listen for the sound of his joysticks and triggers in between your breaths. You know his microphone filters out ambient noise in favour of voices, but wonder how far he’ll trust it with the wet sound of your mouth against his cock.

He swears and tosses the controller aside. You don’t let up and he starts thrusting at the valley of your movements, just enough to give himself the feeling of intention. He knocks the hat off your head and then his hand curls around the back of your neck. You moan, barely audibly, as you find yourself getting wetter faced with his obvious arousal.

You stop when you feel his fingers tighten on your neck and hear him make a beautifully familiar noise above you that means he's _just_ about to come. You slowly suck your way off him, closing your lips over the head as you lick the pre-come from him. 

‘Fucking _hell,_ Lalonde,’ he groans.

‘I know,’ you say pityingly. You rise to your feet and he looks up at you with a scowly desperation that his shades don’t hide an inch of. Then you drop the boxers you stole to the floor. ‘Feel free to take your frustrations out on me.’

He rips his shirt off, shades getting tangled in it and clattering to the floor, and hooks his arm around your waist to pull you closer. You almost lose your grace as he tugs you up onto your knees on the couch, but he clearly doesn’t give a shit as he slouches enough to wrap his lips around your clit. 

Your voice breaks around a gasp as he sucks on you, and then the hand bracing on your thigh curls inwards so that his fingers can stroke, then part you. He groans as he presses two fingers into you. You’re more turned on than you realised, which is extraordinary, really. His arm still wrapped around you has dropped so that his hand is gripping your ass instead of your waist and he squeezes you with it in a way that rocks you against his fingers.

You make a helpless kind of ‘mmph!’ noise and try to sit deeper, but he holds you steady. He eases a third finger into you and rotates just enough to let his thumb sit right under your clit. He starts to lick at you relentlessly as his thumb rubs tiny circles of wonderful pressure and you can’t stop yourself from rocking against his fingers that stilled when he started focusing elsewhere.

 _’Fuck,’_ you gasp. ’Fuck, _fuck!’_

You’re so close and you take it for granted, the way he likes to make you come in foreplay and then overwhelm you a second time. But just as you feel yourself tighten around him, he pulls his face and then his hand back. He looks up at you as he wipes his mouth on the back of his forearm and then relaxes back against the couch, arms wide. He looks down pointedly at his erection. 

‘Is this the new game?’ you ask breathlessly. ‘We just edge each other for the rest of the day?’

He smirks and you know he’d _love_ that. You also know that if you just swallowed your fucking pride, you’d probably come almost immediately. 

‘You started this game, sweetheart,’ he says.

‘I thought your reciprocation would come when I next was absorbed in a book,’ you say.

‘It will,’ he promises.

‘You changed the rules.’

‘You let me.’

You can’t let the implication that you gave him the winning hand lie. You’re also in favour or whatever option gives you an orgasm quickest. So you reach between you and hold his cock steady as you envelop it.

 _‘Christ_ you’ve got your foot to the floor today,’ he says.

You smile at him, pleased he’s noticed. He pulls you forward so he can kiss you. His hand grips your hair, his tongue is confident and well and truly leading, his whole body straining to be closer to yours. You feel almost dazed when he pulls back, only enough to kiss along your neck in a trail to bite your earlobe. You make a startled noise, more high-pitched than you’re used to. He kisses you once more on the lips before falling back into his relaxed posture again, his hand trailing across your cheek as he lets it fall.

‘I don’t know if I like your smug-bitch smile or your cute little stunned face better,’ he says. You narrow your eyes at him. ‘Mm, or that one, like you’re gonna fuckin’ eat me.’

‘Maybe I am,’ you say. 

‘If it’s my time to be vored to death by a gal half my size, it’s my time.’

You feel your traitorous mouth twitch up in amusement. He grins at you victoriously. This all started almost a year ago because he wanted to see if he could break your composure. Because you told him he couldn’t and he proved you wrong, and you _had_ to get him back. Now you get to see him smile without reserve, the sunglasses he wears even at home playing video games forgotten on the floor somewhere. 

He cants his hips upwards slightly and _shit_ that’s an effective reminder of the situation you’ve paused in the middle of. His grin turns predatory and he sits up again, both arms wrapping around your back to brace you, and with a twist he has your back to the couch.

‘I was doing something,’ you say, as if he’s interrupted you in your knitting. His arms are still around you, between your back and the cushion, and the closeness feels so intimate.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Daddy’s turn.’

 _’No,’_ you try to scold, but he thrusts into you and your word turns into a broken moan.

‘No?’ he asks.

‘You know I wa— _ahh …’_

‘What do I know, sugar?’ 

You wrap your legs around his hips and meet him on the next thrust, squeezing your eyes shut as you try not to moan with every single move he makes. You’re not even a little successful, he’s hitting you so fucking deep.

‘C’mon, Rose,’ he whispers, lips brushing your ear. ‘Say what I want to hear and I’ll fuck your brains out.’

‘The literary world will never forgive you,’ you pant.

‘It’s worth goin’ on the run for.’

He starts grinding his hips in tiny, shallow movements that only remind you of how good you could have it and drive you more insane. You’re bracketed by his arms and overwhelmed by his body. You try and move your own hips, but he’s got you pinned.

‘It’s so _cheesy,’_ you complain.

‘I know baby-girl, but you’re gonna say it anyway.’

This isn’t the first time he’s brought this up. You’re going to whisper it in his ear in the middle of the night and fuck up his sleep schedule as revenge. It’s this reassuring thought that allows you to concede to him in the moment.

You cup his jaw with your hand and make searing eye contact with him. His expression shifts from self-satisfied to ravenous. You think you could get what you want without sacrificing this, but you’ve already decided your move.

‘Fuck me, Daddy,’ you say in your best pornstar voice.

He wasn’t expecting you to give in. The words linger between you as he visibly tries to recover, his mouth soft with surprise. Three beats after he should have, he manages to reboot and his hands grip your shoulders an instant before he moves his hips. 

You cry out as he starts to fuck you in earnest, one moan melting into the next. His noises of pleasure and effort provide a bassline to your involuntary melody. He goes hard and fast, head bowed and lines of tension in every muscle you can see.

You grip his shoulders and throw everything you have into keeping up, moving with him to get him deeper, to wind yourself up further. You’re close again and you don’t know what you’ll do if he edges you this time. 

‘Keep going!’ you beg.

He presses his cheek to yours and your sweat mingles as he pounds into you. Your hips still and legs tighten around him as you start to come and your final moan goes silent in the face of your pleasure. He continues right up until your limbs relax around him. He slows right down, lazily thrusting a few more times as he lingers in the moment, and then stills deep inside you. You feel him come and stroke his hair back as he shudders through it.

You lie quietly together as your heart rates slow. You’re so close that you don’t know which is yours and you can feel it racing and echoing through your whole body. He kisses you on the forehead on the way to pushing himself upright.

‘I don’t know who won that one,’ he says, a low laugh breaking through his sentence. 

‘I’m feeling like a winner over here,’ you say.

‘You look it,’ he says. He looks disapprovingly at the mess you made and then shrugs before falling heavily back into your arms. 

‘Oof,’ you say. ‘You’re a very heavy man, Strider.’

‘You’re a very capable woman, Lalonde.’

You hold him tighter and he snuggles into your neck. Your heart might burst with how precious his softness is to you.

‘Y’can keep the boxers,’ he mumbles.

‘How generous,’ you reply, keeping your own voice soft. ‘Are you napping on me?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighs.

You rearrange yourself slightly to be more comfortable. It’d be better in bed, but it’s too perfect to more.

‘I’m going to make you call me Mommy,’ you whisper.

‘I’ll give ya that f’free.’

You huff out a surprised laugh. What a mess of a man to love.


End file.
